Stalking the Dragon (6 page)

Felina took a step toward him.

“What the hell,” said the goblin, standing absolutely motionless, “friends don't charge friends. Use it for free.”

Felina took another step.

“I'll pay
you
a dollar a minute!” said the goblin desperately.

“I call that damned generous of you,” said Mallory, picking up a phone. “Felina, stay right where you are.” He dialed Brody's number.

“Yeah?” said Brody.

“This is Mallory again. Anything yet?”

“Still no,” said Brody.

“Well, stay by your phone, though I'll be damned surprised if you actually get a ransom demand.”

“Will do,” said Brody.

Mallory broke the connection and handed the phone back to the goblin, who was trying unsuccessfully to ignore the fact that Felina was standing six inches from him and smiling hungrily.

“Are you sure you don't want it, old friend?” said the goblin. “Just say the word and it's yours—gratis.”

“I'll cut my throat if you say yes,” threatened the cell phone.

“Don't tempt me,” muttered Mallory. He walked to the door. “Come on, Felina.”

They walked out into the night. There was a cold wind and a few stray snowflakes, and most of the buildings were closed for the night. Jeeves was waiting for them outside the drugstore. “I assume he hasn't been contacted?” said the gremlin.

The detective shook his head. “I never thought he would be. I just had to make sure.” He paused. “Well, where to next?”

Jeeves lowered his head in thought. “I'll have to give it some thought. We just eliminated the most likely place for dragons.”

“You know,” remarked Mallory, “it occurs to me that the very best way to hide something is to keep it in plain sight. I think I read that in a Sherlock Holmes story.”

“I have a difficult time believing that would work with elephants or tubas,” said the gremlin.

“No,” said Mallory. “But I have a feeling I know where it'll work with an eleven-inch dragon.”

“Where?” asked Jeeves.

“Where almost everyone has a small animal as a familiar.”

The gremlin looked completely mystified.

“Next stop: Greenwitch Village,” said Mallory.

C
HAPTER
7

9:21
PM
–9:48
PM

Mallory and his two companions emerged from the subway platform and stood in the chilly night air, staring at their surroundings.

“There must be two hundred coffee shops,” commented Jeeves. “Do you come here often?”

“Not when I can help it,” replied Mallory.

“And it's really filled with witches and the like?” asked the gremlin nervously.

Mallory nodded and pointed across the street, where an ogre had just emerged from a supermarket with a slab of raw, blood-covered meat under his arm. He turned left, almost bumped into a zombie, they growled at each other, and then they continued on their ways.

“I don't like it here,” said Jeeves nervously.

“Neither do I,” said Mallory. “Still, I don't suppose it's any worse than Greenwich Village back in my Manhattan.”

“
I
like it,” said Felina, sniffing the air. “There are lots of little animals here. Fat little, tasty little, juicy little animals.”

“Most of those little animals aren't what they seem,” said Mallory.

“If they're big animals in disguises, there'll just be that much more to eat,” said Felina.

“Just stay close,” said Mallory.

“What do we do now?” asked Jeeves.

“Now we hunt up someone who can help us,” said Mallory, walking down a street that led him deeper into the Village.

After they'd gone a block, a goblin stuck his head out from between two decrepit buildings.

“
Pssst!
”

“We're not buying any,” said Mallory.

“But you don't know what I'm selling,” said the goblin.

“Whatever it is, we don't want any.”

“Not even the hottest pornography ever printed?” said the goblin.

“Go away,” said Mallory.

“Uh…let's not be too hasty,” said the cell phone. “Ask how much he wants for it?”

“For you, seventy-three dollars,” said the goblin.

“That's outrageous!” said the cell phone.

“Okay, keep your shirt on,” said the goblin. “Since it's after closing time, thirty-four dollars.”

“Forget it,” said Mallory.

“And because it's Valentine's Day, I'll knock the price down to four dollars. Share it with a loved one.” The goblin paused. “In fact, you'd better bring her along.”

“Why?” asked Jeeves curiously.

“It'll take two people to carry it.”

“A porn book?”

“Well, it's disguised as the Oxford Dictionary,” said the goblin. “But all you have to do is pick out the right words and put them in the proper order, and
voilà!
you've got something that'll be even more outrageous than
Fanny Hill
,
The Autobiography of a Flea
, and even
The Congressional Record
.”

Mallory turned to Jeeves. “Let's go.”

“
Wait!
” cried the gremlin. “I've got a nude Raquel Welch calendar!”

“She never posed for one,” said Jeeves.

“Triple your money back if I'm lying.”

“Let me see it,” said Jeeves.

The goblin held up a calendar with a photo of a dumpy redhead who was working on her second half-century.

“And that's supposed to be Raquel Welch?” demanded Jeeves.

“Absolutely.”

“They ought to arrest you for fraud.”

“I never said it was
the
Raquel Welch,” said the goblin defensively. “It's
a
Raquel Welch. In fact, she was my fifth grade geography teacher before she became Raquel Glubowitz.”

“Are you quite through annoying us now?” asked Mallory.

“Hey, Mac,” said the goblin. “This is a capitalist society. I'm simply fulfilling my function.”

“Fulfill it with someone else,” said Mallory, starting to walk off again.

“Sex toys from Paris!” cried the goblin.

Mallory turned and glared at him.

“Well,
sept
toys, actually,” said the goblin, “but
sex
sounds so much better, don't you think? And this way I get to toss in the seventh toy for free.

“Felina?” said Mallory.

“Yes, John Justin.”

“If he says another word, kill him.”

“Socialist!” screamed the goblin, darting between two buildings and vanishing from sight.

“Are the goblins this annoying in the Manhattan you come from?” asked Jeeves.

“Yes,” replied Mallory. “But we don't call them goblins back there.”

He commenced walking again, studying the signs as he passed a row of shops, and finally came to a halt.

“Madame Fatima's,” he read. “Spells, curses, hexes, and conjurations.” He shrugged. “First store in the whole block that isn't offering either cappuccino or erotic massages.”

“You didn't read the small type,” said Jeeves, pointing to it.

“Well, let's get on with it,” said Mallory, reaching for the door.

“Are you sure you don't want to reconsider?” asked Jeeves nervously. “After all, she's a witch.”

“Who better to tell us if someone's passing Fluffy off as a familiar?” said Mallory, entering the storefront, followed by Jeeves and Felina.

A gorgeous brunette with an hourglass figure and a revealing black satin gown emerged from a back room to greet them.

“Welcome to Madame Fatima's, John Justin Mallory,” she said.

“I hate her already,” whispered the cell phone.

“You've been here before,” said Jeeves to Mallory.

“Never.”

“Then how does she know who you are?”

“Madame Fatima sees all and knows all,” replied the witch. Suddenly she frowned. “Unless it comes up muddy at Belmont. Then I'm only thirty percent accurate.” She stared at Mallory. “I intuit that you've bet on Flyaway sixty-one times in a row.” She stifled a guffaw. “You're a very slow learner.”

“It's only fitting,” offered Felina. “Flyaway's a very slow runner.”

“I'm not here about horses,” said Mallory. “I'm after a dragon.”

“Try the Yellow Pages,” said Madame Fatima. “I understand there are a lot of hobby breeders in Westchester.”

“Don't go understanding me so fast,” said Mallory. “I'm a detective, here on a case.”

“I knew that,” said Madame Fatima. He stared at her. “Sort of,” she added lamely.

“A toy dragon's been stolen, and I have to find it and return it to its rightful owner by tomorrow afternoon.”

“All this fuss is because some kid lost a toy?” she demanded.

“By definition a toy dragon is a dragon that's less than twelve inches at the shoulder,” said Mallory. “This one happens to be the favorite for Eastminster.”

“Ah! Now I understand,” said Madame. “All I'll need is one of the dragon's scales.”

“I don't have one.”

“A tooth, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you wouldn't rather have some cappuccino and an erotic massage?”

“No.”

“Have you at least got a photograph?”

Mallory produced it.

“Ugly little bastard, isn't he?” remarked Madame Fatima.

“Fluffy is absolutely beautiful!” snapped Jeeves.

“Fluffy?” she said, stifling another guffaw. “A
dragon
?”

“The most beautiful, feminine dragon in the world,” said Jeeves. “Her eyes are—”

“Save it,” said Madame Fatima. “All dragons look alike.”

“I beg your pardon!” snapped Jeeves.

She sighed. “How many eyes has it got?”

“Two.”

“Wings?”

“Two.”

“Legs?”

“Four.”

“Well, there you have it,” she said. “You've seen one dragon, you've seen 'em all.” She turned to Mallory. “What exactly do you want me to do for you?”

“See if anyone's shown up with a dragon today, probably claiming that it's a familiar,” answered the detective.

“Twenty bucks,” said Madame Fatima, holding her hand out.

Mallory dug into his pocket, pulled out a pair of tens, and handed them to her.

“I'll toss in the massage for five more,” she said.

“Just the dragon.”

She shrugged, then lit a pair of candles, closed her eyes, and began uttering a chant in a language Mallory couldn't identify. She spun around three times, stood rigid for a full minute, and finally opened her eyes.

“Well?” asked Mallory.

“There are fifty-seven familiars appearing as dragons just within a mile of us,” she answered. “At least thirty of them are small enough to be the one you're after.”

“How many of them showed up today?”

“It doesn't work that way,” replied Madame Fatima. “A familiar can take any shape it desires. So it might well have been a banshee or a harpy yesterday and a dragon today.”

“So if you tell me that there are a dozen, or twenty, dragons that weren't here yesterday…”

“…they may well have been here yesterday in different forms,” concluded Madame Fatima. “I suppose you'll have to check them out one by one.”

“I haven't got time to track all of them down,” said Mallory. “Besides, this is just a hunch. Fluffy might not be in Greenwitch Village at all. I just thought passing her off as a familiar made sense.”

“Bring me a scale, and I'll pinpoint her whereabouts,” said Madame Fatima.

“If I could pick one of her scales off her, I'd know her whereabouts,” said Mallory.

“Well, yes, there
is
that,” acknowledged Madame Fatima.

“Thanks for your time,” said Mallory, “but we'd better get back to work.”

“Let me give you a tip,” said the witch.

He looked at her questioningly.

“Talk to Blind Boris.”

“Blind Boris?”

“They call him the Wizard of Christopher Street. You can usually find him on the corner of Christopher and Remorse.”

“Thanks,” said Mallory.

“Let me give you another tip.”

“I'm all ears.”

“Stop betting on Flyaway if you want to stay out of the poorhouse.”

As they were leaving, Jeeves stopped in front of a small gilt-framed photo on a counter and stared at it.

“Is something wrong?” asked Madame Fatima.

“No,” said Jeeves. “There's just something very familiar about this fat ugly old lady. I was wondering where I've seen her before.”

Madame Fatima picked up a cappuccino cup and hurled it at his head, barely missing him.

“What was
that
for?” demanded Mallory.

“I won't be insulted in my own establishment!” she snapped.

“What are you talking about?”

“
This
,” she said, gesturing up and down her lithe, sexy body, “is my business outfit.
That
,” she continued, “is the real me!”

“I'm sorry,” said Jeeves.

“Well, you'd damned well better be!” she snapped, as her face and body began to broaden, wrinkle, and droop. “Now get out of here while I regain my self-control.”

Mallory held the door open for Jeeves and Felina. As they left, he turned to Madame Fatima.

“He didn't mean any harm,” said the detective.

“They never do,” she replied, a single tear trickling down a pudgy cheek. “But it hurts just the same.”

Then he was out on the street with his companions.

“I know it's a rare commodity around here,” he said to Jeeves, “but try to display a little tact, will you?”

“What do I know about tact?” answered the gremlin. “My entire life has been devoted to dragons.”

“What happens when you enrage a dragon?”

“It attacks you,” said Jeeves.

“Same thing with a woman,” said Mallory. “See that you remember it.” He paused. “All right, let's get over to Christopher Street.”

“Have you heard of this Blind Boris before?” asked Jeeves.

“No,” said Mallory. “But how hard can it be to spot a blind wizard on the corner of Christopher and Remorse?”

They began walking, and soon came to a street filled with painters and paintings.

“An art fair,” observed Jeeves. “But no one seems very excited about it.”

“They have about three hundred a year down here in the Village,” said Mallory. He looked around. “Where the hell did she go this time?”

“Felina?” asked Jeeves.

“Yeah,” said Mallory, looking down the crowded sidewalk.

“Hey, mister,” said a young bearded man in a paint-spattered smock. “Does
this
belong to you?”

He dragged Felina up to Mallory.

“She's mine,” he acknowledged, staring at her suddenly multicolored face. “What the hell happened?”

“I was painting the most glorious bald eagle…” began the bearded man.

“It wasn't real!” muttered Felina.

“And she pounced on it and tried to eat it.”

“It was a cheat!” said Felina.

“It was a cinch for the Nobel Prize before she ruined it,” complained the man.

“They don't give a Nobel Prize for art,” said Mallory.

“They certainly do!” said the young man heatedly. “Every year Harvey Nobel gives a prize for the best avian painting.”

“I stand corrected.”

“And now your cat-thing has ruined my masterpiece,” continued the young man. “I want restitution. Failing that, I demand that you buy my painting.” He frowned. “Though it's only worth about ten dollars now that it's all smeared.”

Just then a small white-haired woman walked up to him and handed him a blue ribbon.

“What's this for?”

“My name is Hortense Picasso,” she said, “and I'm awarding you the prize for the Best Nonrepresentational Painting. I love the way you incorporated the easel and the sidewalk into your art, to say nothing of the cat-girl.”

She turned and walked away, leaving the surprised artist clutching his ribbon. Finally he turned to Mallory. “I guess we can forgo the restitution,” he said. “And if you want to purchase the painting, it's twelve thousand dollars now. I'll toss in the easel and the sidewalk for free.”